Katrine
by Marauder-In-Disguise
Summary: This is my little spin off from 'The Killing Game'. More explanation inside but basically Chakotay likes Katrine, the enigmatic altar ego of Captain Janeway :-


**A/N: OK, just bear with me here. I was watching 'The Killing Game' the other day and it occurred to me that as Tom and B'Elanna had a 'past', Chakotay must also have been having thoughts as his character. So this is what I think was going through the soldier Chakotay's head when he was following Janeway through the corridors of the 'bunker'. Please be honest, I'm just fiddling. **

These French girls are surprising. If the movies would have you believe anything, it is that these girls are pretty but stupid, only interested in men for one reason. That's the impression I got anyway. French girls are not like that. Katrine is not like that. She is talking to me now, in English so perfect that I am ashamed I cannot speak French until I remember that if it wasn't for this damn war, I would probably never have got the chance to go to France. And it's not even the English that makes her so 'not French' in my woefully discriminatory view. She runs the local branch of the French resistance; she is not stupid, far from it, but one thing I thought is right- she is pretty, very pretty actually and I'm finding that I have a problem paying attention to what she is saying.

"Captain? Captain, did you hear me?"

She is looking at me sharply and I realise that I have been daydreaming and completely ignoring her. As I stutter she raises one eyebrow and thankfully she decides to be kind and repeat herself. She must think I'm a complete idiot.

"I said, captain, that although it looks quiet, we must be vigilant. I'm afraid that," she wrinkles her nose, "the Nazis are cunning."

"Yes, mademoiselle."

I pretend not to notice when she clears her throat at my poor pronunciation, the first effort I have made and apparently my last.

"Call me Katrine please, captain."

"Give me a while on that one."

"I'm hoping, captain, that you will not have the time to grow accustomed to my company," she says curtly, a little too curtly considering the innocence of my reply.

I follow a few steps behind her as she stalks confidently into the bunker, gun crooked in her arm. If I didn't know better, I'd say she has been here before. We keep to the walls, always listening so that the Nazis can't surprise us but every time we hit a turning, Katrine doesn't hesitate. We weave deeper into the bunker and with every step I'm more surprised. It's not so much the fact that the walls are made of metal or even the fact that they managed to hide this in a tiny town like this one. What does bother me is the fact that this place feels so strange, so alien. It's unnerving and with every corner we turn, I feel more like turning around and running.

"How do you know where we're going?" I whisper.

Her face full of disdain, she looks me square in the eye, "I'm a close friend of Adolf Hitler."

I can't help but smile as she turns away and carries on up the corridor. A lot of what they say about French girls isn't true but they got it right when they said that the French people on a whole sure do let you know when they're not your biggest fan. Katrine is distracted and I can tell I'm just getting in her way. I feel guilty about insisting on my coming with her but then I remember that she isn't another soldier. She might be able to look after herself better than half my men could but ultimately she is just another girl caught up in the middle of a war that she didn't choose to be part of and I want to protect her. I didn't learn much from my father, and call me old fashioned, but one thing he did teach me was that a good man never lets a woman get hurt when he could get hurt instead. It's the philosophy he always lives by and he and my mother have been married for twenty five years. There has to be some truth in it.

Katrine is still walking in front of me but I notice that I am much closer behind her. I hope that she hasn't noticed. I don't think she would appreciate any advances today, however unintentional they may be. Katrine is very beautiful, any man would admit that, and I suspect that she knows it. What she might not know is how much that doesn't even matter, at least not to me. I know that I have only known her for a few hours but I feel an odd connection with her. It's almost as though I know her but not in this life. Some other time, so long ago that we have no recollection but only a vague feeling of something tap dancing in our memories, crying out "Notice me, for god's sake, remember me!" I don't know for sure but I think that Katrine can feel it too. She keeps shooting me strange, fleeting looks which, if I didn't know better, were of envy. Why on earth would she be envious of me? She's the one who knows her way around this damn country. I put that thought to the back of my mind as I try to fight off the ever growing feeling that I have been here before.

Suddenly, Katrine stops dead and signals madly for me to get behind her. I can hear two voices, presumably Nazis, just around the corner. Katrine goes to step forwards and in that second I make my decision. Raising my gun, I pull my helmet firmly down and dodge around Katrine, pushing her back and bursting into the corridor where the voices are coming from. I don't think, just fire my gun and only when I hear the sounds of two bodies hit the floor do I stop. Two Nazis, both pretty big, are flat out with their guns clutched ready in their hands.

Katrine grabs my arm and pulls me flat against the wall. She barely stands taller than my shoulder but she looks pretty big now. Her eyes are on fire as she pins my shoulders against the wall.

"Don't you dare do something like that again! You could have been killed."

"Look, honey, the last time I looked I was the one wearing the uniform."

"Promise me, captain," she spits, the last word apparently bitter on her tongue, "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

And she lets me go. I don't know what she is talking about and I don't have time to find out – there are more voices heading towards the gunshots. Instead, I hitch up my gun and stick close to Katrine. I'm not sure if it's the fact that she has no interest in me whatsoever or just the fact that she has a lovely lilt to her accent but I desperately want to know more about this woman. The feeling that I know her is overpowering and I realise, as we break into a run, that I would do just about anything for her. I've known her four hours but if a Nazi gave me the option to die in order to save her life, I genuinely think I would do it. I don't know where this feeling has come from; I guess some people just have that power.


End file.
